


what wolves and fire do best

by splendidlyimperfect



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Universe, Cuddling & Snuggling, First Kiss, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Geralt is Soft when he's high on painkillers, Geralt's a bit of a smartass, Injury, Injury Recovery, Inspired by Stardust, Jaskier is a BAMF, Jaskier saves the day, Jaskier's got a bit of a dirty mouth, Kissing, Light Angst, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Magic, Monsters, Smut, and just in general, he also talks a LOT when he's worried
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:27:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22370269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/splendidlyimperfect/pseuds/splendidlyimperfect
Summary: When Geralt gets injured during a job, Jaskier has to step up and save the day.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 104
Kudos: 1225





	1. in the flames

**Author's Note:**

> I'm weak for Jaskier being a badass and Geralt being Soft, what can I say.
> 
> Title from a poem by Nikita Gill called 'Wolf and Flame'
> 
> _Let them think  
>  you are weak  
> and do what  
> wolves and fire  
> do best.  
> Surprise them  
> when they least expect it._
> 
> Find me on tumblr as [@splendidlyimperfect](https://splendidlyimperfect.tumblr.com/)

Jaskier is not useless.

Sure, he’s not _great_ with a sword – he knows how to wield one, to Geralt’s surprise, but it’s not something he’s trained in. He’s handy with a dagger, especially from a distance, and he’s bashed more than one monster (or bandit) with his lute while Geralt is off fighting something significantly more dangerous.

The problem right now is that the incredibly dangerous thing – a maurezhi, which apparently feeds on human flesh – has thrown Geralt across the room. He hit the wall, and Jaskier had heard a _crack,_ and now Geralt’s not moving and Jaskier’s pressed behind an overturned table, hand over his mouth and hoping to hell that the maurezhi can’t hear him.

The room is silent for a moment, and all Jaskier can hear is the hammering of his own heartbeat, and the rain pounding down in torrents outside the abandoned building.

Then there’s a deep, inhuman growl, and the sound of something scraping across the stone floor. Jaskier shudders, trying not to picture the mangled victim they’d found earlier with its insides… well, not on the inside. A quiet clicking echoes off the stone walls – the creature’s long, poisonous claws clacking together – and Jaskier looks over at Geralt again. He’s still not moving.

 _Get up,_ Jaskier thinks desperately, gaze bouncing around the room as he tries to find a way out. Even if he could get over to Geralt, the man is _heavy,_ and Jaskier would never be able to drag him out of the building in time. He could distract the maurezhi, but then he’d risk it finding _him,_ and Jaskier would really prefer to keep his entrails inside his body, thank you very much.

The maurezhi stalks closer to Geralt, another rough growl scraping its way out of its throat. It’s nearly six feet tall, even hunched over with its claws dragging over the floor – claws that, Jaskier has been informed, will paralyze a human with a single touch. He’s not sure if this extends to Witchers, but he’s also not particularly interested in finding out.

“Geralt!” Jaskier shouts, ducking out from behind the table and quickly taking cover behind another chunk of debris. The roof has fallen apart here, and rain pours in, immediately soaking Jaskier’s cloak. “Get up!”

The creature hisses, and Jaskier’s heart leaps into his throat when it turns and stalks toward him, much quicker than it had been moments ago. _Shit. Fuck. Shitfuck._

“Over here, you…” Jaskier yelps as the maurezhi’s claws tear apart his hiding place, and he rolls out of the way, looking wildly around the room. There’s nowhere else for him to hide, and this thing is going to stab him and paralyze him and then he’s going to have to watch while it eats Geralt alive, and—

A glint of silver catches Jaskier’s eye. Geralt’s sword is lying near his unmoving body, half-buried in the rubble from where the wall had caved in. Before he can think, Jaskier throws himself forward, skidding across the room at an inhuman speed and grabbing the hilt of the sword with both hands.

“C’mere, you bastard,” he growls, whipping around and hefting it as high as he can. He shifts so that he’s standing in front of Geralt’s body, feet planted, adrenaline pushing away the immobilizing terror.

The maurezhi howls, baring its teeth – gods, how many are _in_ there? – and charging at Jaskier. He shouts, pivoting on one foot and swinging the sword as hard as he can as soon as the creature is within range. It connects with a sickening squelch, and Jaskier’s teeth rattle when it hits bone. He yanks it back as hard as he can, kicking out at the claws that are swiping at him, and thrusts again, wild and desperate.

They’re not going to die here. Geralt’s saved his ass too many times to count, and the fucking White Wolf isn’t going to get ripped apart by some horrifying monster that will end up wearing his skin.

Jaskier staggers backward under a blow from the maurezhi, heart pounding at the close call, and then he’s screaming, teeth bared, and sword held high as he leaps at the beast and aims for its heart. There’s a flash of blinding light, searing the air and scorching Jaskier’s forearms as he digs the sword into the creature. It howls again, high and gurgling, and as suddenly it appeared the light is gone, and the maurezhi is dead, and Jaskier’s gasping for breath and blinking at the smoking corpse in front of him. 

“Oh,” he wheezes. The sword is suddenly much too heavy for him and he drops to his knees, sucking in a desperate breath. “Fuck, what the—shit. How the…”

Then he remembers that Geralt is unconscious and quickly turns toward him, setting the sword down and running his fingers across Geralt’s face. It’s scraped and bruised, and there’s a nasty-looking cut on his temple, but the immediate problem seems to be the enormous hole in his chest that’s currently pumping out an alarming amount of blood.

Jaskier yanks off his own doublet, buttons tearing under his trembling fingers, and presses it against the wound. He sucks in another shaky breath, wiping his face with the back of his hand and breathing a sigh of relief when he finds Geralt’s bag still around his waist. He digs through it quickly, peering uncertainly at the vials – why the gods doesn’t Geralt label them? – until he finds one that looks familiar and tugs off the lid. He pulls back the doublet and pours a bit of the liquid onto the wound, and it immediately starts to bubble and hiss as the potion takes effect.

Jaskier breathes a sigh of relief, leaning forward and pressing his forehead to Geralt’s. “Idiot,” he breathes, trying to calm his pounding heart. “You can’t do this to me. My heart can’t take it.”

* * *

Geralt doesn’t wake up for two days.

Jaskier spends the entire time alternating between pacing back and forth across the room or curled up on the bed, staring at the rise and fall of Geralt’s chest. The wound, now stitched and bandaged, is taking longer than usual to heal, and it makes Jaskier’s stomach twist every time he looks at it.

When Geralt finally opens his eyes, blinking blearily and staring up at the ceiling, Jaskier nearly starts to cry.

“Don’t you _ever_ do that again,” he says, sitting down heavily on the side of the bed and watching a confused expression make its way across Geralt’s face.

“Do…”

“Almost die,” Jaskier clarifies. He tries to rearrange his features into a scowl, but all he can manage is a weak look of relief.

“I didn’t—”

“You absolutely did, and I had to save us – which was _terrifying,_ how you do that all the time is beyond me – and then I had to _carry_ you back to your horse – do you even know how heavy you are? Plus it was pouring rain, so by the time we got back I couldn’t stop sneezing and Roach was soaked, and I was pretty sure you were going to die because you wouldn’t stop bleeding and—”

“You… saved us?” Geralt interrupts. His brow is creased in a frown and his gaze is still slightly unfocused – a side effect of the herbs the healer had used to help keep the pain at bay.

“Yes, which surprises me just as much as you, but that thing was going to kill you and eat you and _wear_ your skin – or my skin – which is just—and your sword was lying there and y’know, it weighs nearly as much as you do, but I had to and—”

“Your eyes are pretty.”

“Don’t you dare interrupt me; I’m not done chastising you—” Jaskier stops as Geralt’s words catch up with the frantic racing of his brain. “What?”

Geralt’s usually stoic expression is soft and open, and he slowly reaches up and touches the bandage on Jaskier’s cheek. “You’re hurt,” he says.

“I—yes, but that…” Jaskier frowns as Geralt’s fingers brush across his chin. “That’s not… what you…”

“Your eyes,” Geralt says, tucking a stray curl behind Jaskier’s ear. “They’re pretty.”

“You’re delirious,” Jaskier mutters as heat creeps into his cheeks. “It’s those herbs the healer gave you, it’s—”

“Mn-mm,” Geralt insists, pushing himself up on one elbow and wincing. Jaskier quickly grabs his pillow from the other side of the bed and tucks it behind Geralt, helping him sit up. Geralt’s fingers touch his, sliding along his palm, and Jaskier’s heart does that stupid twisting thing that it’s done every time they’ve touched since they met.

“You need sleep,” he says quietly, torn between pulling away and enjoying the touch while he can. Soon the herbs will wear off and Geralt will be back to his usual self – the man whose vocabulary consists of “fuck” and “hm,” and definitely not “your eyes are pretty.”

Geralt ignores the statement and frowns, looking down at the bandage on his chest. “Wait.” Jaskier’s rambling from earlier seems to catch up to him and he says, “You carried me?”

Jaskier _hmphs._ “And you’re _heavy,”_ he complains.

“Out of the building?”

“Yes, I already said—”

“All the way to Roach.”

_“Yes.”_

“And you killed the maurezhi.”

“Yes.”

“With my sword.”

“Yes, we’ve been over all of this, keep up.”

“Oh.”

Geralt is quiet for a second, then looks down at their joined hands as if just realizing that they’re still touching. Jaskier expects him to pull away, but instead Geralt slides their fingers together and gives Jaskier the most ridiculous, drug-addled smile he’s ever seen.

“Thank you.”

Jaskier laughs. “You must really be out of it. Thank me again when the herbs wear off tomorrow and I might believe you.”

“I will,” Geralt insists, and his gaze is so sincere that Jaskier suddenly can’t look at him. “You’re very brave.” Jaskier’s cheeks burn and he plays with a loose thread in the blanket. “I’m glad you were with me.”

“I am too,” Jaskier mumbles. “I really prefer you not to be dead, if it can be helped.” Geralt laughs – a light, sincere sound that makes him seem so young.

“I’d also prefer to not be dead.”

“Right.” Jaskier tugs on his hand, but Geralt refuses to let go. “Well, it’s—you’re good for business, and I wouldn’t have anything interesting to write about if you died.” He hesitates. “My life would be… rather boring.”

“Mine would be empty,” Geralt says, and he brings his other hand back up to Jaskier’s face and runs his thumb across his cheek.

“Look,” Jaskier says, trying to push away the sudden urge to cry. “You can’t just say things like that. ‘s not fair.”

“Why not?”

“Because if you were sound, you’d never tell me I had pretty eyes.”

“Then I’m an idiot,” Geralt says, voice and expression both earnest.

“Well, I won’t argue with that,” Jaskier says, sighing and leaning into Geralt’s touch. A tiny thread of guilt works its way into his chest for taking advantage of the situation, but the other part of him can’t help it. The more time they spend together, the more Geralt allows Jaskier to touch him. It’s usually small things – a hand on Geralt’s back as Jaskier passes him, leaning against him when they’re sitting by the fire, feet touching under the table when they eat dinner at the inn. But Geralt has never touched him like this.

“You look tired,” Geralt says softly, tipping his head toward the other side of the bed. 

Jaskier hesitates. When they sleep outdoors, they do sleep next to each other – Jaskier feels safer being out in the open when he can hear Geralt breathing next to him. But whenever they’re at inns, they sleep apart – still in the same room, but not in the same bed.

“I can sleep on the floor,” Jaskier says, sighing when Geralt stops touching his face.

“Now who’s being stupid?” Geralt gives him an unimpressed look and shuffles over a little more to make room for Jaskier on the bed.

Jaskier sighs, wrestling with his self-restraint for just a moment before giving up and climbing carefully into the bed. He tries to leave a respectable space between them, but Geralt is having none of it and tugs Jaskier close until he’s basically leaning on Geralt’s shoulder.

“You have to promise me something,” Jaskier says as a yawn catches him by surprise.

“Hm.”

“Don’t shove me out of bed tomorrow morning when you wake up and realize you’re basically cuddling me.”

“Won’t.” Gerald shuffles down, pulling Jaskier with him until he’s using Geralt as a pillow.

“Promise?” Jaskier asks, giving in entirely and curling up on his side, one leg tucked over Geralt’s, hand in the middle of his chest.

“Promise.”

Jaskier hums, not quite believing him, but happily falling asleep to the soft, slow beat of Geralt’s heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A maurezhi is a D&D monster that's basically a flesh-eating demon, similar to a ghoul. Second chapter to come soon, and it'll be kissing and smut ^-^


	2. the wolf inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt wakes up and remembers his promise to Jaskier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is basically just smut, I make no apologies. And yes, the chapter title is a horrible pun.

Geralt wakes up to a soft snore and an arm wrapped around his waist.

He yawns, shifting to stretch, and is met with disgruntled mumble. Geralt frowns, staring at the hand that’s splayed on his stomach, then tracing the attached arm up to the tousled head of hair that’s resting on his chest.

Jaskier.

A mild panic races through Geralt as he desperately tries to figure out how they got here. It’s not that he doesn’t _want_ to be shirtless in bed with Jaskier – he’s definitely had dreams about it before – but he’d really prefer to remember _how_ he’d ended up with his favorite person curled around him like they’ve done this a thousand times before.

They’d been hunting, and something had gone wrong. Geralt remembers the fear, the desperate need to protect Jaskier, and then—

_Your eyes are pretty._

Suddenly everything comes back to him.

Geralt groans quietly, trying to ignore the way heat creeks up the back of his neck at the memory. It’s easier to focus on his injuries instead, so he prods gently at the bandage around his chest. The wound is mostly healed already, but a low ache still thrums across his skin. Everywhere else is a mix of bruises and vague soreness, but it’s nothing he can’t handle.

Jaskier snuffles softly in his sleep and presses his face into the crook of Geralt’s neck, sending a spark of heat through Geralt’s body. Soft, callused fingers brush across his stomach as Jaskier shifts, and his breathing is soft and even against Geralt’s skin.

_Don’t shove me out of bed tomorrow morning when you wake up and realize you’re basically cuddling me._

Geralt closes his eyes and rubs his face, trying his best not to disturb Jaskier. The room is filled with the soft pink light that heralds the sunrise, and a cool breeze trickles through the window, tickling the hairs at the back of Jaskier’s neck. He shivers, burrowing closer to Geralt.

Geralt carefully wraps his arm around Jaskier, tugging the blanket up and pulling him closer. Jaskier’s face is soft and open in sleep – dirty, though, with a bandage across his cheek.

_I had to save us._

It’s not that Geralt doesn’t believe him. He’s seen Jaskier fight before, when necessary, and he’s definitely not useless. But fighting off bandits is something entirely different than slaying a flesh-eating monster with paralyzing claws.

Guilt creeps into Geralt’s chest and settles there. Jaskier could have died. They both could have, but Geralt’s fate is already set – one day he’ll lose to a monster stronger than him. He’s accepted that. Jaskier’s fate, however, is something entirely different. He deserves better than being eaten alive by a monster in an abandoned castle with nobody to mourn him.

“Idiot,” Geralt says softly, looking down and running his fingers across the bandage on Jaskier’s cheek. “You should have left me there.”

There’s a tiny voice in Geralt’s mind that whispers, _you should have protected him. You’re weak and you failed him, and—_

“Hey.” Jaskier’s sleepy voice interrupts Geralt’s racing thoughts and he looks down to see soft blue eyes blinking up at him. They’re accompanied by a yawn and a stretch that shifts Jaskier so he’s pressed right against Geralt’s side. “You didn’t push me out of the bed.”

“I promised I wouldn’t.”

A surprisingly comfortable silence settles between them as they breathe in tandem. Geralt is incredibly aware of everywhere their bodies are touching – Jaskier’s leg tossed over his, Jaskier’s hand on his stomach, Jaskier’s chest pressed to Geralt’s side. His head is tucked into the corner of Geralt’s neck and Geralt catches the faint scent of lavender as he presses his face into Jaskier’s hair.

“Geralt,” Jaskier says slowly.

“Mm.”

“What are you doing?”

Geralt doesn’t answer, just turns so they’re facing each other and Jaskier’s hand shifts down to his hip. He can hear the heavy way Jaskier swallows, and the way his heart stutters and then starts to thrum when Geralt brings a hand up to tuck his hair behind his ear.

“You smell good.”

There’s an uncertain pause, and then Jaskier says, “You’re still addled, aren’t you?” His voice is somewhere between cautious and disappointed, and Geralt can feel his muscles tighten as he gets ready to pull away.

“No,” Geralt says, shifting so his thigh is between Jaskier’s and he’s pinning his leg to the bed. “I’m sound now.”

The quiet _oh_ that Jaskier breathes out is more of a squeak than a word, and it pulls a rumbling laugh from Geralt’s chest.

“Do you, um…” Jaskier is tense under Geralt’s hands so Geralt moves his hand to Jaskier’s shoulder, running his thumb along the soft line of Jaskier’s neck.

“Do I what?”

“Ah. Do… that’s…”

“Use your words, Jaskier.”

Jaskier huffs, brow creasing. “You can’t use my own line against me,” he says, but the words don’t carry much weight.

“Why not?”

“Because…” Jaskier shivers when Geralt’s fingers brush behind his ear, tracing the delicate skin from there to the back of his neck.

“Yes,” Geralt rumbles.

“Yes? Yes what?”

“I remember.”

“Oh.”

Jaskier doesn’t say anything else, just exhales shakily and tips his head to the side to give Geralt’s fingers more places to explore. The soft curls at the back of his head brush against Geralt’s knuckles as he drifts his fingers down Jaskier’s spine and back up again. Eventually he leans back, nudging Jaskier until he looks up.

“Your eyes _are_ pretty,” Geralt says. The mild discomfort at the words is immediately banished by the way Jaskier’s face lights up – hesitant, but delighted. “Thank you for saving me.”

Jaskier stares at him for a second. “What’s my middle name?” he asks suddenly.

Geralt blinks at him. “Alfred. It’s ridiculous.”

“Hm. What’s my favorite color?”

“Blue.” Geralt raises an eyebrow. “It’s really me, I promise.”

Jaskier narrows his eyes suspiciously. “Forgive me for not entirely believing you,” he says. “It’s just that the Geralt I’ve been traveling with for, oh, five years now, has _never once_ said that anything was ‘pretty,’ never mind my eyes, and he’s certainly never thanked me for anything, even though there’s a hundred things he _should_ be thanking me—” 

“Jaskier,” Geralt interrupts. “You talk far too much.”

Then he slides his fingers into Jaskier’s hair and pulls him in for a kiss.

Jaskier responds without hesitation; like he’s been waiting for Geralt to do this since they met. He probably has, Geralt thinks. Jaskier’s fingers work their way into Geralt’s hair, tugging lightly as he runs his tongue across Geralt’s lower lip. Geralt exhales, opening to Jaskier, breathing in him and pulling him closer.

“Up,” he murmurs, nudging Jaskier until he’s straddling Geralt’s thighs and Geralt’s got both hands on his hips. Jaskier shivers, and it takes Geralt a second to realize that all he’s wearing is a too-large shirt and his smalls. “Is that my shirt?”

“Um.” Jaskier looks down at it. “Yes? Sorry, my clothes were a bit, um… and I was worri—”

“I like it.” Geralt keeps one hand on Jaskier’s hip and brings the other up to cup his cheek, then tugs him back down for a kiss. “You smell like me.”

“Smelling people is ridiculous,” Jaskier says indignantly against Geralt’s lips, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead he shifts forward, one hand on the bed beside Geralt’s head and the other in his hair. Geralt makes a pleased sound – Jaskier’s already hard, his cock dragging against Geralt’s through the thin fabric separating them.

“Fuck,” Geralt groans as Jaskier rocks forward.

“Ah,” Jaskier says shakily, pressing his forehead to Geralt’s. “There’s the articulate— _ahhh—_ Witcher I know so well.”

Geralt grunts, grabbing Jaskier’s hips and pressing up against him at the same time. Jaskier moans, low and rough, and suddenly that sound is the only thing Geralt wants to hear. He grinds up again, sliding one hand under Jaskier’s shirt—his shirt—and rubbing his thumb over Jaskier’s nipple.

“Oh,” Jaskier whispers, heartbeat stuttering as he presses his cheek to Geralt’s and nips at his earlobe. “Yes.”

Geralt hums, pressing his head back into the pillow and shifting his hips up again as he traces a circle around Jaskier’s nipple, then pinches it lightly. Jaskier makes a weak, inarticulate sound and buries his face in Geralt’s shoulder, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses under his ear.

“You’re sure you’re sound?” he gasps as Geralt thrusts upward again.

“Very.”

“G-good,” Jaskier stutters, “because I want you to fuck me.”

Geralt growls, letting go of Jaskier’s hip just long enough to tear off the shirt and toss it aside. It doesn’t take long for them to both shuffle out of their smallclothes, and Jaskier briefly disappears to his pack and returns with a vial of oil that he tosses next to Geralt. Then Jaskier’s straddling his hips again, tugging Geralt up by his hair and settling into his lap. Geralt hisses at the slight pain and Jaskier hums appreciatively.

“You like that?” he murmurs, shifting forward until their cocks are trapped between them, hot and heavy. “I’ve wanted to do this for ages. Thought about what you’d sound like with my fingers in your hair.”

Geralt groans, grabbing Jaskier’s ass and pulling him closer. It’s been so long since he’s been with anyone like this. The last time he visited a brothel, all he could picture was Jaskier splayed out under him, Jaskier moaning his name, Jaskier tight around him as he fucked him into the mattress.

“Harder,” he growls as Jaskier tugs on his hair again. Jaskier obliges readily, taking a fistful of Geralt’s hair and pulling his head back until his throat is bared. Hot lips trace a path across his shoulder and down to the hollow of his throat, and when he feels teeth scrape against his skin, he shudders.

“Jaskier,” he pants, rutting harder against his cock. “Jas, fuck.”

Jaskier’s breath hitches and he nips at Geralt’s jaw. “That’s the idea,” he pants, reaching down and nudging Geralt’s hands where he wants them. “Please.”

Geralt doesn’t argue, fumbling around for the oil and eventually managing to slick up his fingers while Jaskier ruts against him, breathing heavily in his ear. When Geralt finally slips a finger inside him, Jaskier moans loud enough that Geralt’s sure everyone in the inn knows what they’re up to.

He’s surprised to find that he really doesn’t care.

“Geralt,” Jaskier whispers, leaning forward and shifting so Geralt can press deeper. “That—yes, fuck, there.” His breathy moans spur Geralt on and he tips his head down, catching Jaskier’s nipple between his teeth as he fingers him harder. “Shit,” Jaskier pants. His fingers are still tangled in Geralt’s hair, but he’s too busy rocking back on Geralt’s fingers – two now, spreading him open – to pull very hard.

Geralt’s about to add a third finger when Jaskier pulls back, shuddering and moaning. “C’mere,” he says, eyes bright as he shifts off of Geralt’s lap and tugs him toward the edge of the bed. Geralt follows because at this point, he’d follow Jaskier anywhere. Then Jaskier slips down onto his knees and Geralt nearly stops breathing.

Jaskier has clearly done this before. He tongues at the underside of Geralt’s cock, then holds Geralt’s hips firmly and takes him down in one swift movement. Geralt gasps, threading his fingers into Jaskier’s hair as he spreads his legs wider, trying his best not to buck up into the wet heat.

“Fuck, Jas,” he breathes as Jaskier pulls nearly all the way off, then sucks hard at the head and takes him down again, until Geralt can feel his cock hitting the back of Jaskier’s throat. Nobody has ever sucked his cock like this before – never been this eager, this attentive, this absolutely dedicated to making him feel good.

Geralt groans as he runs his fingers through Jaskier’s hair, combing it out of his eyes as he watches his cock slide in and out of Jaskier’s mouth. He’s pictured it before – Jaskier, on his knees like this – but the real thing is so much better than any fantasy he’s had before.

Then Jaskier looks up at him, blue eyes wide, and Geralt is gone. He tries to warn Jaskier, to nudge him away, but Jaskier just takes him deeper and swallows him down while Geralt bites down on his lip and shudders as he comes.

When Jaskier pushes himself to his feet with a pleased smile on his lips, Geralt shivers, pulling him close and kissing him.

“Still got it, then?” Jaskier teases, running his hands up Geralt’s sides. “Been a while, glad to see I can still render a man speechless with my mouth.” Geralt raises an eyebrow at him. He’s seen Jaskier disappear with many a roguish looking young man at parties or in an inn – he’s not exactly discrete about his inclinations. Although, come to think of it, it hasn’t happened recently.

“A while?” he asks.

Jaskier shrugs, cheeks turning even redder than they already were. “Didn’t seem…” He huffs. “I didn’t want anyone else. But you.”

Geralt’s heart does something funny at those words and he grabs Jaskier by the waist, turning and tossing him back onto the bed. Jaskier hums contentedly, splaying out and spreading his legs so Geralt can settle between them.

“I’ve wanted you for a long time,” Jaskier says softly as Geralt leans over him, nipping at his bottom lip and sliding their tongues together.

It doesn’t take long for Geralt to get hard again. Jaskier’s hands are as deft as his tongue, and Geralt has never been touched by anyone like this before. Jaskier’s constantly moving, pressing kisses everywhere he can reach while he traces Geralt’s scars with his fingertips. And of _course_ Jaskier would talk during sex – it would take an honest to god’s miracle to shut him up – but instead of grating on Geralt, it spurs him on. This sort of babbling he doesn’t mind.

“I need you in me,” Jaskier pleads as Geralt slicks up his cock and leans forward, taking a deep breath before slowly thrusting into him. “Fuck, that’s—yes, gods, you’re so go— _ahh, yes, there_ —so good.” Geralt’s arms shake on either side of Jaskier’s head as he holds still, letting Jaskier adjust.

“Okay?” he asks roughly, leaning down and brushing his lips against Jaskier’s.

“More than okay,” Jaskier breathes, grabbing Geralt’s hips and pulling him closer. “You’re incredible. Please, I need—move, please.”

So Geralt obliges, starting off slow but unable to hold himself back the more Jaskier talks. He’s never quiet – a long litany of _fuck, Geralt,_ and _right there,_ and _harder, please, more, you feel so good._ When he’s not talking, he’s moaning, head thrown back and hair in damp curls around his face.

“Jas,” Geralt warns, feeling himself tipping forward toward the edge again.

“I know,” Jaskier groans, gasping as Geralt wraps a hand around his cock and starts to stroke him. “Me too, I’m cl— _hnnnggnn_ —I’m close, I want to feel you, need to… need you, need…”

His words are cut off as he arches his back and gasps, spilling over the back of Geralt’s hand and whispering his name like it’s the only word he knows.

Geralt follows quickly, enraptured by the way his name sounds on Jaskier’s lips, wrecked and broken. “Jas,” he groans, thrusting one last time as everything tightens, and he comes undone.

Almost immediately, a wave of exhaustion rushes through Geralt and he collapses, shifting to the side so he doesn’t smother Jaskier. The wound in his chest aches a little and he groans, pressing his fingers to the bandage.

“Fuck, we sh—”

“Worth it,” Geralt interrupts. “’m fine.” He leans over the edge of the bed and grabs his discarded shirt, using it to clean up their mess and then tossing it back on the floor. Then he pulls Jaskier close and exhales hard as he kisses Jaskier’s forehead.

“Well,” Jaskier says after a moment, still out of breath. “That… you…”

“Mm.”

“Exactly.”

Geralt laughs, tipping his head back against the pillow and taking in the soft, sweet expression on Jaskier’s face. Then he frowns, reaching out and running his fingertips across the bridge of Jaskier’s nose.

“Jaskier,” Geralt says slowly, staring curiously at the smattering of soft, glowing freckles across his face that most certainly were not there before. “You’re glowing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dunnnn... yes there will be at least one more chapter if not two and we will get an explanation for the sparkles! Promise ^-^


	3. constellations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Jaskier try to figure out why Jaskier is glowing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for your patience with me while i finished this! life's been crazy lately but i promise i don't abandon stories - i do finish them, even if it takes forever ^-^ enjoy!

“You’re glowing.”

Jaskier frowns, leaning back from Geralt and bringing a hand up to touch his face. Nothing feels different, but Geralt won’t stop staring at him.

“I’m...”

“Glowing.” Geralt reaches out and runs his fingers across the bridge of Jaskier’s nose, very gently. The touch makes Jaskier shiver. “Like stars.”

Something soft and quiet creeps through the back of Jaskier’s mind, but before he can focus on it, it drifts away again, leaving nothing behind but the feeling of cool night air. He pushes himself up off the bed and stalks over to the mirror, brow furrowing in confusion at the tiny pinpricks of light on his face.

“What,” he says quietly, “the fuck.”

“I take it this hasn’t happened before,” Geralt says wryly.

“Definitely not.” Jaskier turns back to him, chewing on his bottom lip and trying again to chase the strange sensation. Sometime familiar tugs at his mind but he can’t catch it. “At least,” he clarifies, “I don’t think so.”

“Seems like something you would remember,” Geralt says, gesturing for Jaskier to come back to the bed. Jaskier ignores him, still staring curiously at his reflection. “Can you feel it?”

Jaskier shakes his head, then looks at Geralt with raised eyebrows. “Have you... seen it before?” Unease twists his stomach. “Am I some sort of—”

“No.” Geralt interrupts him before he can spiral into panic. “Not any monster I’ve seen.” He pauses, then adds, “I’ve seen lots of monsters,” as if this is some sort of comfort. Before Jaskier can respond with something sarcastic, Geralt says, “It’s fading.”

Jaskier turns back to the mirror, touching his face as the star-like dots dim, then wink out several at a time until his skin is regular and unblemished. The strange sensation in his chest dissipates too, leaving him slightly breathless.

“Well.” He blinks a few times, then turns back to Geralt.

“What do you think caused it?” Geralt asks as Jaskier returns to the bed, sitting cross-legged on the sheets.

“Fantastic sex?” Jaskier grins when Geralt rolls his eyes. “No,” he concedes. “I’ve had plenty of other partners and they’ve never commented on my glowing visage post-coitus.” He gestures at his face. “Perhaps sleeping with a Witcher? Have any of your previous conquests started sparkling after your carnal encounters?”

Geralt gives him a half-hearted glare and Jaskier sighs, flopping back on the bed.

“We could ask Yen—”

Jaskier reaches up and slaps his hand over Geralt’s mouth. “We will _not,”_ he says firmly. “It’s just glowing. I’d rather be radiant than talk to that…” He trails off at the mildly offended look on Geralt’s face. “Look, just because you wished yourselves together doesn’t mean I have to like her.”

Geralt shrugs, then removes Jaskier’s hand from his face and leans in to kiss him.

* * *

Despite Jaskier’s protests, Geralt does ask Yennefer. He isn’t planning to, but when they show up at an inn a few towns later and she’s sitting at a table in the back corner, Jaskier sighs in defeat and follows Geralt over to join her.

“Let me see if I’m getting this right,” Yennefer says slowly, raising an eyebrow as she searches Jaskier’s face. “You got… glowing freckles.”

“Mhmm.” Geralt watches Jaskier squirm uncomfortably under her gaze.

“Like stars.”

“Yes.”

Yennefer hums, expression shifting from disbelief to mild curiosity. “What were you doing before they appeared?”

“Having sex,” Geralt says before Jaskier can come up with a lie. Jaskier’s face moves from surprise to shock to indignation so quickly that it barely registers, and Geralt tries to hide a smile at the red flush that creeps across his cheeks.

“With… each other?”

“That’s not your—” Jaskier sputters, but Geralt interrupts him.

“Yes.”

_“Geralt,”_ Jaskier hisses, kicking his ankle under the table. Geralt ignores him.

“I’ve never heard of anyone literally glowing after sex,” Yennefer says, lip quirking up in an almost-smile. “Has it happened again since then?”

Jaskier huffs and crosses his arms over his chest as Geralt shakes his head. “Just the first time.”

Yennefer taps her fingers on the table, then shrugs. “I’ll look into it,” she says. “But only because it’s an interesting magical phenomenon that I’ve never heard of before, _not_ because I’m doing you any favors.”

* * *

Three days later, in the middle of the night, Yennefer’s voice wakes them both from their sleep.

_You need to run._

Jaskier sits up quickly, untangling himself from Geralt’s embrace and pulling the thin blanket close as he looks frantically around the campsite. Roach nickers nearby, and everything is dark save for the soft glow of the moon through the trees.

“Did you hear that?” he demands, looking down at Geralt, who is propped up on one elbow and peering curiously into the trees. The moonlight reflects off his eyes and Jaskier shivers.

_Run,_ Yennefer’s voice says again, and it takes Jaskier a disorienting moment to realize that it’s not coming from around them, it’s coming from inside his head.

“What the fuck,” he whispers, kicking the blanket off and standing up. “How is she doing that?”

Geralt holds out his hand, gesturing for Jaskier to be quiet as he moves to a crouch and reaches for the sword that’s lying on the ground beside them. There’s no noise to signal an impending attack – nothing beside a soft breeze rustling the leaves of the trees and the occasional howl of a wolf in the distance.

Jaskier’s about to chalk up the warning to paranoia when Yennefer’s voice tears through them again, this time much more frantic. _RUN, you idiots!_

“From what?” Jaskier shouts, looking around frantically. “There’s nothing—”

His words are cut off by something _appearing in his mouth._

“Jaskier!” Geralt shouts, but Jaskier can’t see because whatever is attacking him is also covering his face. It’s cold and tastes like iron, but when he tries to bite down on it, it shifts and oozes. Jaskier gags, trying to spit whatever it is out, but it presses back further until he can barely breathe.

There’s more shouting and a muffled thud, but when Jaskier tries to grab at whatever’s on his face and pull it away, he realizes that he can’t move his arms. The thing pushes him backward, slamming him against a tree as it wraps around his chest and starts to squeeze.

Jaskier tries to scream, but nothing comes out around whatever it is that’s currently choking him. For a second, he’s sure he’s going to pass out, but then something sparks inside him, and he’s yanked back into a memory. 

_He’s twelve years old and hiding in an alley, hoping that if he makes himself small enough, Billy won’t see him. Unfortunately, the gods aren’t particularly kind to Jaskier, and he quickly finds himself face-to-face with a boy much, much larger than him._

_“C’mere, you little shit,” Billy growls, grabbing Jaskier by the arm and yanking him out from behind the pile of flour sacks where he’s hiding. Jaskier growls at him, trying to tug his arm away. Billy’s still bleeding from his nose where Jaskier hit him, and there’s a mark on his forearm in the exact shape of Jaskier’s teeth._

_“Fuck off,” Jaskier snarls, kicking Billy’s shin and struggling against his grip._

_“You’re psychotic,” Billy says, tightening his grasp and wrenching Jaskier forward until he falls to his knees. Someone approaches from behind and grabs Jaskier’s hair, pulling on it hard until Jaskier’s eyes start to water from the pain._

_“Where’s your sister?” Billy asks, voice terrifyingly calm._

_“Fuck you,” Jaskier replies through gritted teeth._

_Billy slaps him, hard. “I said, where’s your sister?”_

_Jaskier glowers at him, refusing to answer. Matilda is safe at home, away from Billy and his wandering hands and his inability to understand the word ‘no.’ She’s perfectly capable of taking care of herself, but Jaskier takes his duties as older brother seriously – even if it means getting the shit beat out of him._

_“She’s gonna say yes eventually,” Billy says, hand moving to a small dagger that he keeps in his belt. “But first I’m gonna cut off all your pretty hair and kick your teeth in for fucking with me.”_

_Some of the rage in Jaskier’s chest turns to fear, and there’s a moment where he considers begging. Billy steps closer, blade glinting in the afternoon sun, and Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut, waiting for the pain._

_Nothing happens. Instead, the fear coalesces into a righteous anger that burns him from the inside out, and something sears across his skin. There are several screams, and when Jaskier opens his eyes, he can’t see anything but a brilliant silver light that beams out of him and pushes everyone else away. It’s warm and familiar, and he grins when it flows back into him, making his skin shimmer._

_“Freak,” Billy whispers, scrambling back from where he’s been knocked on his arse. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”_

_“Nothing,” Jaskier says, taking a step forward and feeling a smug sense of satisfaction when Billy flinches. “You’re the freak. Now fuck off or I’ll… I’ll light you on fire.”_

_He’s bluffing. This power is both familiar and strange, and he’s not certain he can light things on fire with it, but Billy is afraid enough that he takes the threat at face value and scrambles to his feet._

_As the sound of footsteps fades and Jaskier is left alone in the alley, the light begins to dim, until Jaskier is left with nothing but a stinging scalp, bloody knees, and the knowledge that he is more powerful than he realized._

Jaskier opens his eyes.

This time, instead of the darkness, he can see the forest, lit up with a brilliant silver glow that’s exploded from his chest. It’s just like the memory. Starlight fills the glade, burning away whatever’s got him in its grip, and he stumbles forward when it eventually lets go of him. The bitter taste disappears from his mouth, as well as whatever was choking him, and he coughs and takes a few deep breaths.

“Oh.” Geralt’s voice comes from nearby and Jaskier turns to see him staring at the light. It’s spilling from Jaskier in waves, pulsing out with every heartbeat and driving back the darkness bit by bit. The creature – whatever it is – screeches and darts toward Jaskier again, only to be hit with another wave of light that burns it away.

Jaskier and Geralt stare at each other for a moment as the light starts to fade and sink back into Jaskier’s skin. The powerful feeling is back and Jaskier breathes it in, trembling at the rush.

He’s about to step toward Geralt when a roaring sound fills the air between them and a portal appears, spitting sparks in every direction. Yennefer emerges from the circle, looking pristinely put together despite the late hour, and her face is scrunched in concern until she sees that they’re both unharmed.

“Ah,” she says, staring at the way Jaskier is still glowing in the dark. “You’re all right, then.”

“Um,” Jaskier replies.

Yennefer nods, then takes a step back and gestures for them to follow her. “Come with me,” she says, and for the first time in his life, Jaskier listens to her without arguing.

* * *

They end up in the kitchen of a small but ornately furnished home. Geralt is given the awkward task of guiding Roach through the portal and then out the front door without damaging anything, and when he returns to sit next to Jaskier at the table, the starlight has dissipated. The rush disappears with it, and Jaskier is left exhausted.

“Thank you,” Geralt says, nodding at Yenn. He squeezes Jaskier’s arm. “Are you all right?”

Jaskier nods. “What the _fuck_ was that?” he asks as he rubs his throat, wiping at his face again to try and get rid of the sticky sensation. He can still taste iron and ash, and he shudders at the memory of being unable to breathe.

“Void beast,” Yenn replies, handing him a cup of something that smells sweet. He takes it gratefully, too exhausted to be snarky. His entire body aches, and he can still feel thousands of tiny pricks of pain everywhere the light left his body.

“What would a void beast want with him?” Geralt asks, shifting closer to Jaskier and placing a hand on his thigh.

“The light,” Yennefer explains, sitting down across from them at the table. 

“You mean…” Jaskier raises a hand to his face.

“It’s starlight,” Yennefer explains. “They feed on it.” There’s a brightness to her gaze that Jaskier’s never seen before – something akin to excitement. “I did some research, after you left. You were born in December, correct?”

Jaskier nods as Yennefer reaches behind her and pulls a book off her shelf. She flips through several pages, then turns it toward Jaskier and Geralt. It’s a full-page drawing of a couple standing on a hill under a sky of falling stars.

“Nine months before your birth, there was a shower of stars,” Yennefer says. “Not unusual, but this was the largest starfell ever witnessed. Reports say it was like watching the heavens fall to earth.”

“I remember that,” Geralt says softly, touching his fingertips to the paper. “We watched it from Kaer Morhen. The sky looked like it was on fire.”

Jaskier studies the picture intently, feeling the warm sense of familiarity bubble up inside him again. “I… remember too,” he says softly. “Or, I’ve seen it. In dreams, I think. Obviously I wasn’t _there,_ but…” He brings his hand to his chest. “It’s inside me.”

Yennefer nods, and Jaskier detects a hint of jealousy in her gaze. “I’ve not seen it before, but I imagine others that were conceived that night have the power too.”

“But why now?” Jaskier asks, frowning. “I haven’t… since…”

He trails off as tiny snippets of memory begin to float to the surface – times where he’d been stronger, faster, braver. Protecting Matilda. Saving a little girl from drowning in the river. Helping his aunt give birth when she’d been weeks too early and managing to save the babe. Hauling Roach back from a precipice when she’d almost slipped.

Saving Geralt from the maurezhi.

“Oh,” he says softly.

Yennefer nods, and part of Jaskier is irked because he knows she’s reading his memories along with him. The other part is grateful that he doesn’t have to clarify. Geralt looks between the two of him with his eyebrows raised, searching for an explanation.

“Acts of love,” Yennefer explains. “And sacrifice.”

Geralt nods as if it’s the most reasonable answer in the world. Jaskier supposes it probably is for a man who sees the inexplicable on a daily basis.

“So why the glowing?” Geralt asks, reaching out and brushing his fingers across Jaskier’s cheeks. “When we slept together?” Jaskier ducks his head. Heat creeps into his cheeks because he knows the answer to that before Geralt’s even finished asking the question.

“Because he loves you,” Yennefer says simply. There’s no hint of jealousy or bitterness in her voice, and when Jaskier looks at her, she gives him a rare smile. “Don’t you?”

Jaskier huffs, dropping his gaze back down to the floor, but Geralt isn’t having it. He moves his hand to Jaskier’s chin and tips his head up until they’re looking at each other. “Do you?” he asks.

“Of course I do,” Jaskier mutters, and the expression of surprise and delight on Geralt’s face makes the embarrassment worth it. “What, you think I followed you around for years because I loved sleeping outdoors and having my life threatened on a daily basis?”

Geralt laughs. “Well, it could have just been my good looks,” he teases. Jaskier sighs in exasperation.

“You’re an idiot,” he says, and before he can stop himself, he leans in and kisses Geralt.

“I’m going to leave you two alone,” Yennefer says, and Jaskier hears her chair scrape along the floor as she pushes it back from the table.

“Yes, thank you,” Jaskier says, tone both fond and exasperated at the same time.

As soon as the door closes behind her, Geralt grabs Jaskier by the waist and pulls him into his lap. Jaskier sighs, tipping his head back as Geralt kisses his neck and runs a hand through his hair.

“So,” Geralt says against his skin. “You love me.”

“I already said I did,” Jaskier replies, resting his hands on Geralt’s chest and feeling the slow, steady beat of his heart. It’s a counterpoint to the frantic pattering of his own as he hesitantly asks, “And… you?”

“I do,” Geralt says, and even though he doesn’t say the word ‘love,’ Jaskier knows he means it in every way he can. “I do, Stardust.” The nickname makes something warm pool in Jaskier’s stomach, and he can’t help the grin that spreads across his face.

“Stardust, huh?”

“Mm.” Geralt kisses his throat, then leans back and grins at him, tipping his head toward the bedroom. “Now come with me. I need to see if I can make you sparkle again.”


End file.
